


i will spend my whole life loving you

by hihilumin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, Growing Up, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Smut, Vignette, boys growing up together .., i love them so much aaaaaAAA, idk its ?? a lot ??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihilumin/pseuds/hihilumin
Summary: They were so intertwined, never knowing where one ended and the other began. and now they shine equally as bright but in different ways. And Oikawa has always loved like a supernova and Iwaizumi has always loved like the calm after a storm, but for them it has always worked; it will always work when, at the end of the day, no matter how far and no matter how much time has passed between them, Oikawa can stretch his arms out and find Iwaizumi at the end of them and know they will always be together, apart.Like the shoreline holds the ocean, waves cast back and forth against the sand, their love withstands the storms, the seasons, the distance.That will never change.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 12
Kudos: 92
Collections: Haikyuu_Fluff_Only, IwaOi Week 2020





	i will spend my whole life loving you

**Author's Note:**

> self indulgent iwaoi fic? self indulgent iwaoi fic

The day after the Aoba Johsai graduation, they spend the afternoon tossing a volleyball between each other in Oikawa’s backyard.

The sun setting over the horizon casts pink and purple shadows against the same tree they nestled up against as kids, against the grass that tickles their feet. It looms over them, beating down on them like a spotlight, and signifies the end –– of another day, of another chapter.

(Oikawa has never liked endings, and yet,  
these days seem like they are full of them.)

“Oi, Shittykawa.” Iwaizumi calls him from across the backyard. “Quit hogging the ball.”

“Impatient as always, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa looks up, sending the ball flying; there’s a satisfaction that builds within him when Iwaizumi, as always, catches it without fail.

They send the ball back and forth to each other like that for half an hour more, like the world around them isn’t changing, until Oikawa finally concedes defeat and all but collapses on the ground with a heavy sigh.

“Always so dramatic.” Iwaizumi remarks.  
“You love it.” The setter pats the grass to his right, a wordless invitation, and he can’t hide the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips when he feels the familiar warmth lie in rest by his side.

They have never needed words the way others do; it’s the advantage that comes with growing up side by side, this becoming acutely aware of every tensing of shoulders and every twiddle of thumbs, the meaning behind every clap on the back, every lingering touch.

(It’s funny; when Oikawa had first told him he loved him, he hadn’t realized Iwaizumi had been saying it all this time, too ––  
in the hand on the small of his back when they walk home; the way he knows Oikawa’s complicated coffee order by heart; the pinkies that interlock before competitions, reminding him he’ll always have something to hold on to, firm and safe –– invulnerable.

Oikawa kissed him, then, and it tasted like fireworks, in the same way it tasted like a warm fire welcoming him home.)

“What happens now?” he hears Iwaizumi ask, and closes his eyes. He expects him to ask this; where he is idealistic and floating, Hajime keeps him grounded, reminds him that there is still a world out there to win.

(The thing is, he doesn’t know a victory without Hajime by his side.)

“Dinner, maybe.” Oikawa responds airily, expecting the punch to his shoulder that comes, the “Smartass.” that, on Hajime’s tongue, sounds more like a compliment than any adulation.

He shifts to face him, sticking his tongue out. “You can’t be this _mean_ to me anymore, Iwa-chan.” he pouts. “All the terrible things you’ve said to me over the years will be in my autobiography, and history won’t be able to save you then!”

Iwaizumi barks out a small laugh at that, and Oikawa’s face lights up with it. “Do you plan on mentioning the fact that most of the ‘terrible things’ I’ve said were meant to keep your ass from overworking yourself?” Another nudge to his shoulder, though this time Oikawa allows them to remain in contact; the closer he can feel to Iwaizumi, the better.

He waves a hand dismissively, and he doesn’t even need to see Hajime fully to know he’s rolling his eyes. “Semantics, semantics.” he says in a singsong voice. “But if you really want my gratitude, you can have _all_ of it, Iwa-chan!” and to prove his point, he summons his whole strength and rolls his entire frame over.

“What the fu–– _Oi_!” and Iwaizumi’s eyes widen when Oikawa lands squarely atop the other, blocking his view of the dissipating sun (the passing thought of Oikawa being the brightest star makes him want to sucker punch himself in the gut). There’s a sigh of aggravation that leaves his lips, but no attempt to shove Oikawa off, and Tooru’s satisfaction only grows at the small smile that betrays Hajime’s eyes.

“What am I going to do with you?” Iwaizumi asks, though the tired in his voice is overshadowed by such fond attachment Oikawa’s heart aches.

He traces a hand over Iwaizumi’s face, cupping his cheek softly, and murmurs back: “What am I going to do _without_ you?”

When he leans in to press their lips together Oikawa realizes he never wants to find out.

He thinks: _This –– this, I can hold on to for a little while longer_.

––––

One day, when eight year old Iwaizumi peers over the fence that divides their houses, Oikawa is gliding across his backyard.

He’s stopped going to the dance studio –– since the bullying, the unkind laughs and scraped knees and tear-streaked cheeks his mother couldn’t help but cry for –– but every moment he isn’t thinking of volleyball he’s watching videos of people leaping to tremendous heights; of people springing to life when music overtakes them, and he takes to his patio and tries it himself.

Here, Oikawa’s convinced himself, he is safe; no bad people, no bullies can come inside his house and infiltrate this haven, and so he can dance in peace without the worry of eyes on him, of cruel words and hands doubly so. 

So when he sees Iwaizumi staring he nearly screams. 

The sound gets lodged in his throat and comes out as a little squeak instead, so he holds a finger up in consolation and wills it not to shake as he points, accusatorily, at his next door neighbor. 

(His _friend_ , Oikawa thinks initially, but decides against it –– because sure, he considers Hajime a friend when they hang out on his lawn sometimes per their moms’ requests, but he can’t be too certain it’s _reciprocated_ , and the thought of having to ask, to voice that desire for certainty, makes him feel pitiful and weak, and he gets enough of that from school.)

And Iwa-chan looks like those other boys from school, too: all rough around the edges, permanent scowl on their face, bandages and scratches that they wear proudly like battle scars. It’s for that reason he gets along well with Oikawa’s bullies, but Tooru has never seen him egging them on when they steal his lunch or shove him into bathroom stalls (in fact, he doesn’t think he’s seen Iwa-chan bully anyone, ever).

He wonders if that’s why the distance between them feels like yards more than feet.

“Yahoo~ What’cha lookin’ at, Iwa-chan?” words are playful and feign innocence, but Oikawa can feel the weight of the other boy’s gaze boring into him and he nearly shudders.

And when Iwa-chan jumps over the fence Oikawa yelps, heart dropping to his stomach. The premise of haven shatters right before his eyes; he’s paralyzed with fear and can do nothing but watch as the other trudges, closer and closer until the tips of their sandals touch, and Iwaizumi hasn’t stopped _staring_.

Iwaizumi raises his arm, and Oikawa flinches; momentarily, he realizes this is why he hasn’t seen Hajime bully anyone –– because he’s been waiting for them to be alone, and then he’ll deal the final blow ...

until the palm lands, as gentle as Iwaizumi will allow it, on Oikawa’s shoulder.

The younger boy blinks; Hajime’s hand is stiff, and awkward, and when he looks at the other closer there’s the freckle of pink flushing across his cheeks, his nose. He begins to ask, “Wha––” 

But the barely finished word dies on Tooru’s tongue when he feels Iwaizumi’s other hand now grasp at his waist, certain and secure, and Oikawa doesn’t even know where to begin until, for the first time since he’d spotted him, Iwaizumi speaks.

“Well?” Impatience laces every word, but Oikawa catches the slight tremor in his voice when he finally stares back. “Aren’t you going to move?”

Oikawa’s eyes widen, but he manages to snap out of it long enough to yell “Don’t be rude, Iwa-chan!”, to which Iwaizumi scowls. 

He realizes, then: Hajime had told him to _move_.  
A switch in him flicks, and Oikawa does.

It’s difficult at first, because Hajime has never done this before, and Tooru doesn’t think he’s ever had his toes stepped on so many times in the span of a few minutes.   
But Iwa-chan learns, and follows Oikawa’s lead, and now they are floating together –– the hand on his waist firm and assured, the way the shoreline holds the sea.

––––

When Oikawa tells Iwaizumi he loves him for the first time, the spiker turns a startling shade of red akin to a tomato, or a heat stroke.  
This is fine, because Oikawa, too, feels like he’s about to faint.

It is their last school fair together, and they are watching the fireworks, and Oikawa, for the past few weeks, has had a speech memorized, again and again, about how he is indubitably in love with his best friend. It has been proofread several times (despite his initial misgivings, Mattsun and Makki seem surprisingly supportive –- and useful) and practiced in front of several mirrors, and when the night comes Oikawa thinks finally –– _finally_ –– he is ready.

He does not take into account, however, that Iwaizumi is Iwaizumi, and the moment said best friend looks at him, all false bravado spectacularly falls out the window.

“I like you.” he finds himself saying, just as another firework sets off another loud _boom_ ; he can see Iwaizumi narrowing his eyes and lean in closer to hear better, bracing himself for something more punch-worthy, and he panics.

“Like.” He fidgets, flinches at the sound of another firework. Too soft. 

“I mean––” A little more. 

“Y––” Another firework, and Oikawa loses it.

“Oi _kawa_ ––”

“Fucking–– Iwa-chan, I _love_ you!” 

From the stunned looks on the faces of everyone around them, he takes it upon himself to consider maybe that last bit had been a little too loud.

(Between the shades of unidentified crimson and the smack to Tooru’s head for being a ‘fucking idiot,’ Oikawa takes the kiss he gets in return to mean Hajime loves him, too.)

––––

The night before Oikawa leaves for Argentina, he is busy taking pictures off his wall, packing history into cardboard boxes.

The nostalgia that clouds the four corners of his bedroom are palpable, and Oikawa’s been misty-eyed for weeks as he looked around his home, his Miyagi –– taking in the town he grew up in, every nook and cranny he has grown to love.

By the end he’s come to the photograph he loves most: on a victory draped in blue and white, the rest of the team around him so _blinding_ in their uncontained joy. It’s from one of their first wins with him as Captain, and he remembers it like it was yesterday: the deafening glee, the adoring crowds.

Eyes rest on the two in the center, softening; Iwaizumi’s eyes crinkle in a crescent moon smile, arm wrapped around Oikawa’s shoulders and looking up at him with a fondness they’ve come to reserve only for each other. The Oikawa in the picture is looking back on him with the same amount of adoration, so close to the person who’s mattered the most to him in the entire universe.

(The world, he thinks, will always be too small to grasp the feeling he gets when he hears Iwaizumi call out to him, and realizes he knows his own name better when it comes from Hajime’s lips.)

––––

The thing about loving Hajime is that Tooru has known him all his life –– he knows him, has known him for so long, and if he were any good at language he could write poems about his unruly hair that can withstand any hairbrush ( _any_ ; believe Oikawa, he’s tried); his intense back and forth gaze when watching a volleyball match; his permanent scowl that only grows in exasperation in his company; his callous hands, spiking ball after ball, wrapping bandage after bandage around an overworked knee.

The other thing about loving Hajime is that Tooru realizes there’s so much left to learn, and that some poetry can only be pinned on every surface other than paper.

This poetry is a dance he can only learn with Iwaizumi –– between them, behind bedroom walls, high on victory and drunk on the burn of Hajime’s lips over his ears, his jaw, his neck.

It is clumsy at first, this mess of teeth and tongue and skin pressed against skin –– it happens so quickly but so naturally, with Iwaizumi’s family gone for the weekend and the two new young lovers taking the house for themselves.   
But there is a gracefulness, too; in the way Iwaizumi’s back arches, the way Oikawa’s hands curl into fists in the sheets and _tighten_.

“ _Hajime_ .” his name tumbles off his lips like a prayer, deep and guttural and _yearning_ , oh god, oh god, “Oh, _god_ ––”

And Iwaizumi groans, snapping his hips forward, and Oikawa can feel his bones shake at the sound and the sensation of being wound so tightly around Iwaizumi’s length. His face contorts, going slack jawed as he moves his hips in time, feeling Hajime around him deeper, faster, more, “ _More_.”

“ _Tooru_ .” Iwaizumi gasps hotly, and Oikawa hears his name in the other’s mouth synonymous to _mine_. 

The thrusts become more erratic in nature, Iwaizumi chasing his high, and it isn’t long before Oikawa falls over the edge with every _yes_ and _please_ and _more_.

––––

The first time Oikawa walks to a volleyball practice without Iwaizumi beside him, it feels strange.

They have always walked side by side, in and through everything –– from elementary to high school, every competition and field trip and volleyball game in between. And Argentina is unfamiliar territory, in every way: his new teammates are nice enough, and Spanish is something that becomes easier over time, but on every sidewalk, every street corner, he still finds himself gravitating slightly to the left, as if afraid to take up a space made for two.

Where he has always moved, Iwaizumi has always followed –– out of damage control, out of awe, out of years of being by his side that he doesn't know what it feels like without it.   
Now it feels like he’s run ahead, and Iwaizumi stayed behind.

(He takes comfort in the fact that even despite that, technically, he isn’t walking alone.)

––––

When the elementary school bell signals recess, Oikawa walks to the track oval for lunch, and he tries to hide his excitement when he sees, out of the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi following him.

It would’ve been perfect, then, except someone else follows them, too.

“Hey, Iwaizumi-kun!” Oikawa flinches at the sound of Hajime’s name rolling off the same tongue that can be so cruel, but says nothing at the sight of Ito jogging to reach their side. 

He offers no greeting to Oikawa, intent clearly focused on the other, which is fine by him; being ignored is far better than the more unpleasant alternative. “Where are you going? Me and the other guys were just about to play dodgeball.” The look on his face is expectant, and truthfully Oikawa, too, is half expecting Iwaizumi to go “Oh, okay!” and leave him in the dust to be friends again once class is over.

When Iwaizumi does none of that, then, Oikawa finds himself frozen in surprise.

“Oh, no thanks.” the boy says instead, polite but firm, and when Iwaizumi tilts his head in his direction –– includes Oikawa in the narrative –– he tries to look braver than he actually feels. “I’m about to have lunch with Oikawa over there. He still owes me from yesterday.”

Then Ito’s eyes flicker towards him, and any semblance of bravery Oikawa has vanishes with the malice that begins to brew in his stare; he looks down. “Aw, c’mon, Iwaizumi-kun! The guys are already waiting for you!” Ito clasps a hand over Hajime’s shoulder, and Tooru’s filled with the sudden urge to wrench his hand away, to slap his hand over his mouth so he never has to hear Iwaizumi’s name fall from that disgusting tongue again, but none of the courage to actually go through with it.

Iwaizumi’s face splits open into a mixture of upset and slowly building irritation.  
But the hand on his shoulder tells him, under the guise of friendship, he doesn’t have a choice.  
It tells him _come play with us, or else we’ll treat you and him as one and the same_.

Oikawa refuses to be the reason the whole world turns its back on him.

“It’s okay.” Both Iwaizumi and Ito start at the sound of Oikawa’s voice, soft and tentative but enough to draw their attention. He clears his throat and tries not to wince at the sudden attention –– focuses on Iwaizumi’s gaze while trying to drown out Ito’s. 

“You should go and play, Iwa-ch –– Iwaizumi-kun …” The frown on Iwaizumi’s face deepens. “We can just hang out after school.”

Ito sneers at him, and fear crawls up Oikawa’s spine almost instinctively, taking a step back in preparation for his retreat. Beside him, Iwaizumi is still cross, slotting mental puzzle pieces together to understand the animosity that’s on the verge of eruption. 

Ito, on the other hand, is growing impatient. “You heard him, Iwaizumi-kun!” his smile begins to broaden, as if sensing his own victory. The grip on Hajime’s shoulder tightens. “Let’s _go_ ––”

“I said no thanks.” 

Oikawa looks up. He’s never heard Iwaizumi’s voice run so ice cold before; he’s used to the rough tones, the gruff stiffness that comes with something almost, but not quite pre-adolescence, but fully Iwaizumi’s. He’s never expected it to be used on someone else this _menacingly_ –– and it’s clear Ito isn’t expecting it to be used on _him_.

It takes a moment for him to register what’s happening until he feels Iwaizumi’s frame inch closer to his, choosing _his_ side, choosing him –– and as much as he wants to feel like a winner now, the fear latches on and doesn’t move away.

Only this time, it’s Hajime he’s afraid for.

When it becomes clear to Ito where Iwaizumi’s loyalties lie, any false pretense of camaraderie evaporates. His smile dissipates, quickly morphing into something wicked and callous and disgusted, and Oikawa is desperate to all but shove Iwaizumi into his last chance of acceptance.

“Iwa-chan,” his whisper is frantic, tugging on the hem of Iwaizumi’s sleeve. “Seriously, I said it’s okay––”  
“And _I_ said,” Hajime interrupts, face adorning the same boyish scowl Oikawa’s come to be impressed by –– the same one that, at the sight of, he falls silent. “I’m staying with you.”

––––

“For the last time,” Iwaizumi exhales in between a mouth full of tofu. Oikawa waits, albeit impatiently, as he hears a quick shuffling on the other end of the call, Hajime pressing the phone closer to his ear. “ _No_ , I did not know he was _his_ dad before asking to work for him.” Oikawa’s certain his boyfriend doesn’t need a video call to know he’s _scandalized_ , face lighting up a brilliant red as he all but splutters under the bright Argentina sun. 

Behind him, his flatmates look on at him in a mix of both amusement, curiosity, and vague concern; just a split second ago Oikawa had looked so happy to get a photo from his long distance lover. 

Now it looks like he was about to tear his own head in.

“You broke my _heart_ , Iwa-chan!” Oikawa harrumphs; Iwaizumi eats some more. “I mean, _really_ –– here I am, expecting a cute photo from my boyfriend. Maybe a _nude_ , even!” (At this point, his flatmates have decided it’s far better to simply tune him out.) “And once I open it up I get you next to–– next to _him_!”

“Ushijima isn’t that bad, you know.” he can hear the shrug in Hajime’s words, and it only annoys him further. “Talks like a cranky old man, sure, but he's fine. And his dad was nice enough to let me train under him, so I’m giving him a free pass.”

“I wasn’t aware that was your type.” he narrows his eyes, clutching his heart in faux pain. “You wound me a second time today.”

“Shut up, dumbass.” comes the natural reply, and even when he’s meant to be upset Oikawa can’t help but smile, like the words render the 6,000 miles to barely inches apart. “And also, unfortunately enough, I seem to prefer the dramatic ones.”

“So rude, Iwa-chan!” he admonishes him again, though it’s only half-hearted. He reclines back on his couch, staring up at his living room ceiling. “Are you having dinner now?”

“Mmh.” a pause. “You should be sleeping.”

Now it’s Oikawa’s turn to roll his eyes. “After all these years, you’re still acting like my mom, Iwa-chan?”

He pictures Iwaizumi’s snicker, the crooked tenderness of his smile, and his own forms, breaking against his entire face; the tension in his shoulders that he hadn’t even known was there relaxes. 

“Stupid Ushiwaka-chan.” he hums. “Gets to see you before I do.”

A comfortable silence lapses between them for a moment; Iwaizumi breaks it.

“I miss you, too.”

Oikawa’s heart does somersaults.

And then,

“He still thinks you should’ve gone to Sh––”  
“I’m hanging up, Iwa-chan!”

––––

The minute Oikawa receives word of a down time period, he’s never booked a plane ticket faster.

(He arrived at LAX after one of the most grueling and tedious flights imaginable, but the exhaustion dissipated without a question when he ran –– sprinted –– his way into his boyfriend’s arms, luggage all but abandoned for the boy he’s seeing for the first time in months.

“Hey–– you’re going to get both of us hurt, dumbass––!” But he doesn’t ignore Hajime tugging him closer, sinking into how they have always slotted together in a way that feels exact –– that no one, no distance could ever take away from them.)

It’s surreal, seeing the Miyagi boy he’s loved for so long, forever, glowing under California sun. He meets Iwaizumi’s friends (and flusters under the way they laugh and say “So _you’re_ the famous Shittykawa!”, to which he glares indignantly at an amused Hajime. “ _Iwa-chan_!”), and Ushijima’s dad (under whose gaze he feels so incredibly small; the apple, he realizes, does not fall far from the tree), and on the days they don’t have anywhere to be or anyone to commit to Iwaizumi drives them around the city, pointing out sights and landmarks like he’s been there his whole life.

 _You’ve changed_ , Tooru thinks, but at the same time not at all; he thinks it miraculous, to know everything about the person he loves, and still get this chance to relearn it, relearn him, over and over again.

One day, they spend the entire afternoon tossing volleyballs to each other on the beach. In that golden hour, with the ocean waves tickling his feet, Oikawa looks at Iwaizumi and thinks:

 _This –– this I will hold on to, all my life_.

(It had always been them, him and him against the world, an unspoken promise: _Don’t go where I can’t follow_. 

They were so intertwined, never knowing where one ended and the other began. and now they shine equally as bright but in different ways. And Oikawa has always loved like a supernova and Iwaizumi has always loved like the calm after a storm, but for them it has always worked; it will always work when, at the end of the day, no matter how far and no matter how much time has passed between them, Oikawa can stretch his arms out and find Iwaizumi at the end of them and know they will always be together, apart.

It isn’t _Don’t go where I can follow_ , anymore, no;  
Now it is _As long as you move forward, that is enough._

It is knowing he can call out "Iwa-chan" all his life, and it'll forever taste like homecoming on his tongue.)

––––

It’s only right that their wedding colors are white and blue. He’s always liked them –– the colors where happiness grows.

“What happens now?” Iwaizumi asks in the middle of their first dance, and Oikawa looks up at his husband and smiles. 

“The rest of our lives.” he replies simply, and they sway a little while longer –– the ocean and the shore, never to be apart for too long.

**Author's Note:**

> @loserkawas on twt!!!


End file.
